Love In December
by forblueskies89
Summary: So this is love in the end of December, quiet nights, quiet stars. And I'm here Monday to Sunday, cause you're fragile, and I'm weak. AU Brucas ONESHOT


**Hey guys!**

**I know it's been so long since I've posted you probably thought I'd stopped writing, but I've been working on a few things. The problem is that I'll start one thing and then get an idea for something completely different!**

**Mostly the things that pop into my mind are oneshots, like Self Conclusion (which I posted a while ago) and this. But I've got a lot of story idea's aswell which sucks cause I don't wanna have more than one story on the go at once.**

**Anyway – DSOB is still a work in progress, I've started the next chapter and although it's been on the back burner I promise that my next post will be for that. I also promise it'll be a lot sooner.**

**I guess it's just been hard to be inspired after season 4. I've noticed lately that people have been updating a lot less frequently which sucks – but like I said I'm feeling all depressed about Brucas too, and I'm really fussy about my end result.**

**I have no idea how I came up with the idea for this oneshot. The idea just popped into my head one day and I improvised as I went along. It's an AU story, but only slightly. All of the characters started out from the same places they did at the beginning of Season One, but there was never any Brucas. Leyton got together with no interruptions and this is basically my take on how Tree Hill would be a different place if things had gone down that way.**

**Not everything is explained and some things are just hinted at – but I like things like that. It means that you guys can fill in the blanks and interpret things your own way. I hope you enjoy – I'm not totally convinced that it's my best writing!**

* * *

**_The Sweetest Sin_**

The night is cold, the air is thick with moisture.

A tall, blonde haired boy stands on a street corner, huddled under the light of a nearby streetlamp, as if he hopes that it's illumination will somehow bring warmth to his cold frame.

He cups his hands to his mouth and breathes into them, before rubbing them together, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and back again. It's a bitter winter night, and although the stars are out in their multitudes, an unsettling darkness seems to have penetrated everything.

In the silence he glances at his surroundings. Row after row of expensive white houses with neat picket fences line the street, depicting the scene of the model neighborhood. Of stay-at-home Mom's, and faithful husbands, of friendly neighbors and well-mannered children.

Lucas however knows better. Being the abandoned son of Dan Scott has taught him a thing or two about the difference between public image and reality. Behind every closed door may lie a Deb or a Nathan – even the occasional Peyton.

Uncomfortable with his thoughts, he shifts his weight from side to side again, pulling back his sleeve and glancing at his watch.

"Come on Peyton," he mutters to himself, his breath turning to vapor that quickly dissolves into the night air.

Almost in answer to his thoughts he hears soft footsteps to his right, quiet at first, but getting louder with every step. He digs his hands into his pockets and squints into the darkness, attempting to trace her outline, but failing as the shadows dance playfully away from his eyes.

When she steps into the light, he is surprised not to be met by the usual mop of blonde curls and black leather jacket. Instead of being greeted by his girlfriend, he is graced with the presence of another beautiful girl; one much more beautiful, he allows himself to admit just that once.

This girl has ruby red lips and raven hair, porcelain skin and the deepest green eyes he's ever seen. Dressed in heels and a black coat that clinches in her tiny waist, she stands before him, hands in pockets, an awkward smile tugging at her lips.

"Brooke?" he asks, allowing her name to roll off his tongue slowly, as his mind rapidly searches for a reason why she might be here.

"Hey," she replies, in the husky voice that could only belong to her.

She runs a perfectly manicured hand through her long hair, as a blush gently creeps into her cheeks. Evidently embarrassed, she looks away from his gaze, interrupting the silence that she always seems so eager to avoid.

"Peyton sent me," she tells him.

He nods on impulse, although he's pretty sure it's ridiculous to nod when in all honesty he's more than a little confused as to why his girlfriend would send her best friend to meet him.

"Maria grounded her," she explains, adding a custom Brooke-Davis eye roll. "She went psycho on her again – probably hasn't popped enough of her happy pills today."

He attempts a laugh, always the well-mannered boy; but it sounds fake and they both know it. Besides which, there really isn't anything funny about Peyton's dysfunctional relationship with her Stepmother.

"She just wanted me to let you know," she says softly.

He nods again, falling into silent thought. Brooke recognizes the reaction; brooding blondes are not unfamiliar to her, having spent seventeen years growing up with one.

Looking at him properly, she finds herself tracing his features – his shy smile, his blue eyes, his unshaven chin. He stands tall, but at the same time there's something in the stoop of his shoulders that makes him look like he carries the weight of the world.

His forehead is crinkled in a way that she's sure is undeniably adorable. She briefly wonders if Peyton thinks of that expression as cute – but then dismisses the thought, reminding herself that Peyton and cute don't exactly mix.

"Thanks." He says eventually, his gaze flickering upward to meet hers – and this time she doesn't look away.

"It was nothing." She replies, hoping that he understands they _need_ to believe that. Because suddenly she's sure they're not talking about Peyton and her Stepmother anymore. Suddenly their conversation has a different meaning and the look in his eyes tells her that he feels the weight of every word.

She nods, more to herself than to him, and with one last lingering look turns and walks away.

Hands still in pockets, she dares not look back, fearing that another word from him will send them stumbling onto dangerous ground. She almost holds her breath, hoping that he won't call to her again, but somehow knowing that inevitably he will. So she doesn't feel surprised when he calls out her name, in fact the only thing she feels is the sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach.

She freezes where she is, eyes closed, a pained expression etched into her delicate features. And she waits… waits for the unavoidable words that she knows will spill from his lips.

"I'm sorry," he says, his voice so low that it's a wonder she hears him. But she does hear him, and she knows she can't pretend anymore.

She turns back to him, her expression a mixture of shock and sympathy.

"Lucas…" she starts, his name long and drawn out on her lips.

"I… I never… meant," he stutters. "I never meant to…"

"It's not your fault Luke." She says, sounding a lot more confident than she feels. But she needs him to know it's not his fault – it's hers; the guilty feeling gnawing away at her is evidence enough of that.

They stand, still for a moment – just looking at one another as her eyes glisten with the beginnings of tears that will never be shed. She nervously gulps them back, finally giving in as her shoulders drop in submission.

"I kissed you back," she whispers, her confession so quiet that it barely makes it past her lips.

He shakes his head fervently. "I kissed you first."

She sighs and takes a step towards him. "It was stupid."

"_Really_ stupid." He adds.

"We were both upset…"

"I'd just had that fight with Peyton."

"I'm flunking Bio."

"And we were drinking..."

"Wine goes straight to my head…"

"…And your Dad's tequila."

"It was just…"

"…A kiss," he finishes, absent-mindedly running a hand through his dirty blonde hair.

She realizes they're babbling, and when their eyes meet, his embarrassed smile lets her know that he's realized that too.

"Can we just maybe… forget about it?" she suggests, wrapping her arms around herself.

"And be friends?" he asks, stepping towards her, lessening the space between them until she's within an arms reach.

"We are friends, silly," she giggles, playfully punching him on the arm, as if to demonstrate her point.

And within that moment, the tension that laced the air previously has dissipated, to be replaced by the comfortable atmosphere that they've become so accustomed to.

He feels himself relax, smiling genuinely for the first time that night. His smile only broadens when she returns the expression, dimples on display, green eyes twinkling in the dull light.

He glances away from her, turning to look down the street. Though it seems hardly possible, the night is getting colder still, a thin layer of fog starting to materialize around them. Everything feels more blurred, somehow losing the definition that it held before. One glance back at her however, reminds him that she is as clearly defined as ever.

She returns his gaze, wondering what could be occupying his thoughts out of a countless number of possibilities. Probably some philosophical book or his latest English Lit assignment, maybe he's even thinking about this weekend's Raven's game and how best he can one-up his brother.

No, she decides. He's most likely thinking about his girlfriend – who she guesses is probably sitting at home and returning the favor.

His girlfriend.

Her best friend.

The girl who's boyfriend you should _never_ kiss.

She wishes it felt as wrong as it sounded like it should.

She's beautiful. Absolutely flawless in all of her tiny imperfections, he's sure of it. There couldn't be a single guy in the world that wouldn't stop dead in their tracks if they saw her in the street.

But then he shouldn't be thinking that.

She makes him feel calm, although he's pretty sure she's the most unpredictable person he's ever met. There's something in the way she smiles, the way her eyelashes flutter when she's trying to be coy, the way her voice cracks every so often.

She's a walking contradiction – and she makes him feel like one too.

Before he can think about what he's saying, the words have already escaped his lips; his inhibitions inexplicably failing to hold them back.

"Walk with me,"

Unsure if it's a request or a command, she finds herself nodding all the same. She falls into step with him; the only sound the dull pad of his sneakers on the pavement and the brisk click of her heels.

It's been a cold fall season – the bare trees pay homage to that. Crooked, and somehow skeletal, they seem taller than ever. Bare trees and bare streets; the scene sounds eerily like that of a horror film, but the only illusion cast is one of isolation.

The mist thickens as they walk, and somewhere along the way the world seems to drop away. Houses, cars, trees – everything is swallowed up until only outlines are left, and even those seem to be a trick of the night.

They depict a beautiful picture – one that speaks volumes about opposites and irony, like a painting in monochrome. Her the sultry brunette vixen, and him the naïve blonde dreamer.

To anyone who didn't know better, they could be the only two people in the world.

* * *

She's cold, and she's getting colder by the minute. Glancing down at her bare legs she comes to the conclusion that her outfit isn't exactly practical for a midnight stroll. She hasn't really thought this through – but Brooke Davis rarely thinks anything through, so that's no surprise.

She looks over at Lucas and involuntarily shivers. He's wearing old jeans, boots – he's even wearing that grey hoody he seems to love so much, under his jacket. He looks warm… and it's enough to make any girl feel cold in comparison.

She looks away from him as she sees him glance across at her. His eyes flit from side to side as if he's trying to gauge how she's feeling.

His pace slows. "Hey, are you cold?"

"A little," she admits, crinkling her nose as if she's half embarrassed by her confession.

He stops walking. "You want my jacket?"

She glances back at him over her shoulder, and slows her pace as so not to wander too far from him.

"No…" she smiles mischievously. "Then you'll be _a little_ cold."

She turns to face him, as he stands planted on the spot. She continues to tread backwards, not wanting to stop moving and lose what little warmth that she still has. Shifting her weight from foot to foot, smiling how she is, she almost looks like a little girl dancing round playfully, lost in her own childish games.

"But I'll look manly," he counters, his earnest expression telling her that he's still half serious.

She considers his offer for only a second and then resolutely shakes her head.

"It wouldn't go with my shoes," she tells him. "Besides… you look much cuter in it than I would."

She winks at him, happy that she's made him laugh again. He doesn't seem to laugh a lot normally… or smile. In fact the only person she ever really sees him with is Peyton, and Peyton's definitely not the joking type.

Peyton.

Lucas is _Peyton's_ boyfriend.

Her best friend's boyfriend… who she just winked at.

… and is flirting with.

… and kissed last week.

But they were drunk, and Brooke Davis flirts with everyone – it's really not a big deal.

"True," he concedes, laughing at her indignant face.

She turns and begins to walk again and he strides to catch up with her. He wraps an arm around her shoulders and she settles into his side with no hesitation. She sighs contentedly, enjoying the weight of his arm round her shoulders, the feeling of his fingers in her hair.

"Better?" he asks.

"Much."

He smells good; musky and deep, but somehow subtle – she supposes that suits his personality really. It feels good to be this close to him, to have someone holding her the way he is.

She's surprised. She's always though of him as someone who was young for their age – he always seemed so naïve, so full of childlike optimism. But she feels safe with his arm around her, she feels so much more protected than she's used to.

Suddenly he doesn't seem like a boy – he seems a lot more like a man, and she feels like the unworldly child in comparison.

"I should be getting back," she says. It's late, she's tired, and although she isn't cold anymore she's starting to think she's going a little bit mad.

"Your house is the same way as mine," he replies, confusion evident in his voice.

She pauses. Deep in her coat pocket she runs her thumb over the ring on her fourth finger of her left hand.

"To Nathan."

She feels the muscles in his chest stiffen at her words. It's a well know fact that the Scott brothers hate one another.

"Oh."

His voice is suddenly cold and scathing. "And how is my wonderful brother?"

Eager to change the subject, she shrugs and replies, "He's seeing Tutor Girl tonight."

Tutor Girl, or Haley as anyone but Brooke calls her, is Nathan's best friend. Lucas finds it strange that someone as moral as Haley James can find anything even slightly redeemable in a jerk like Nathan, but he supposes stranger things have happened.

Out of everyone who has ever felt the wrath of the Scott brother's feud, Haley's the one who had it worst. Torn between her loyalties to either one of them, the events of the last year or so dictated which brother was more important to her – and the brother she chose was Nathan.

To Lucas it's a little strange remembering that they used to be best friends themselves not too many years ago, but if he's honest with himself then he can understand how things have turned out the way they have.

Although Haley has never been particularly close to Brooke or Peyton, it's almost as if they determined her choice for her. When Lucas started hooking up with Peyton he didn't have time for Haley anymore; he was busy with his girlfriend. Nathan did – he had a girlfriend who didn't need to spend every hour of the day with him, a girl who was independent, _fiercely _so.

And he supposes that it was inevitable – with nothing to bring Lucas and Nathan closer together and the intense hatred between them that only grew with time, anyone who was close to either one of them would have to pick a side.

But even though he's become resigned to his and Haley's fate, it doesn't mean that he doesn't miss her like crazy. He misses everything about her; her smile, her goofy jokes, the way when he catches the scent of her shampoo it causes a dozen childhood memories to flash into his mind. Most of all, he misses just talking to the one person who understands him completely.

And it also doesn't mean that he doesn't know her anymore, somehow time has done nothing to change that. He sees the look in Haley's eyes every time she's around Nathan, every time their fingers accidentally brush or she catches his eye. Even if he knew nothing about her, he'd still recognize that look.

It's the look of a person who's longing for someone they can never have, and telling their heart to listen to their head. The look of someone who every now and then catches a glimpse of who they could be in another life – a life that's just a little bit too far from reach, just beyond their fingertips. The look of someone who constantly reassures themself that they are happy, and anything they may think they feel is just a trick of the light.

It's sad really; Haley's nursing feelings that can only ever lead to a broken heart. But love can trick even the smartest of people and persuade the most stubborn.

Nathan loves Brooke – the engagement ring on her finger is proof of that. Even if he did feel anything more than friendship for Haley, Lucas is sure he loves Brooke far too much to allow himself to acknowledge that.

Nathan looks at Brooke and sees the love of his life; he looks at Haley and sees his best friend. Lucas looks at Haley and Brooke and sees two beautiful women who belong to his brother.

Nathan always did seem to get everything Lucas wanted.

He allows his hand to trail from Brooke's shoulder down her back, resting just above the curve of her hip. She shivers and presses herself against him, closer than before. His fingers uncurl to wrap around her waist, braving the bitterly cold air – but somehow it doesn't feel as cold as it should. Even if it did, it'd be worth it anyway.

He sighs contentedly. But he shouldn't feel content.

This is wrong – on so many levels.

He turns his head and murmurs in her ear, "I'll drive you back."

She nods… and they keep on walking.

* * *

"Mmm," she sighs, her hands clasped together and a satisfied smile spread across her lips.

She looks back at him over her shoulder. "Have I ever told you how much I love your Mom's café?"

He laughs and takes down a couple of bar stools. "Not bad, huh?"

She shakes her head and starts to unbutton her coat.

"And it so warm," she purrs, relishing the absence of cold air nipping at her skin.

He shrugs his jacket off and quirks one eyebrow. "We have food too,"

"What kind of food?" she asks.

"Um…" he glances around. "Cake."

Her eyes light up. "Where?"

"In the fridge."

She claps her hands together excitedly and scurries around to the other side of the bar.

Ten minutes and a lot of deliberation later, the only cake left on the countertop is a Bannoffe pie; Brooke's favorite – something she insists on telling Lucas every other minute.

With a smile on her face that could only be described as smug, she stands on her tiptoes and reaches across the table for a bowl. Her back still turned to him, it's moments before he speaks again.

"I never knew you had a tattoo."

She swears under her breath.

It's a small 23 that sits just above her waistline. It's classy and discrete and is barely noticeable unless her back is exposed.

She bites her lip, feeling ashamed somehow.

When she speaks, her voice comes out uneven and weak – two things that Brooke Davis usually hates to be.

"It's…"

"Nathan's jersey number," he interrupts.

She bites her lip again and falls silent.

Without even thinking about what he's doing he runs two fingers over the black mark at the base of her back.

She closes her eyes involuntarily, shocked at the sudden contact. His fingers are rough, telling of the years of labour at his Uncle's garage, and yet there's gentleness in his touch that's both unfamiliar and soothing.

His fingers linger on her skin, tracing every contour. He feels inexplicably sick to his stomach, horribly entranced by the two small symbols on a square inch of her skin.

It suits her – nestled in the curve of her back. If he didn't know the meaning of those symbols then he'd go as far as to say it was sexy.

But to him it's not sexy – it's just proof.

Proof that she's wholly Nathan's.

She was meant to be flawless, but she's tainted just like everything else in his life.

He coughs, breaking the silence, and recoils from her, frightened that she's conscious of his hesitation.

She feels her cheeks flush a deep shade of red and dips her head, glad of the cover that her hair provides.

He mumbles something about the storage closet and hurries off, leaving her to breathe a sigh of relief.

Raking her hands through her hair, she silently tells herself to get a grip.

This is dangerous, this is stupid, and probably the most immoral thing she could ever come close to doing.

She decided a long time ago to stop playing with fire – because in the end, someone _always_ get burnt.

* * *

They're making hot chocolate when he asks about her engagement ring.

A worry line creases his forehead. "Was it expensive?"

She smiles at him gratefully. She knows how hard it is for him to talk about his brother after the gorge of family history that lies between them.

She answers him honestly. "Well Nathan sold his car to buy it."

He frowns.

As if calculating his thoughts, she continues.

"Of course Dan brought it back for him."

Her eyes glaze over as she recalls the memory. "He was thrilled when Nathan proposed… grinning like a Cheshire cat."

She presses a button on the hot chocolate machine and shakes her head in disbelief. "I think it really helped fix their relationship"

During the last year, Nathan's relationship with his parents had gone from bad to worse. Secrets, fights, a drug scandal and Dan's constant bullying had resulted in Nathan seeking emancipation from his parents, leaving their relationship in tatters.

Who would have thought that getting engaged at seventeen would have brought Nathan and his father closer together?

He raises his drink to his lips and takes a sip.

"Maybe you should marry me," he jokes.

They laugh awkwardly, and she rolls her eyes, unsure whether to be amused or exasperated.

"Sorry," he grimaces. "Bad joke."

"Yeah," she laughs, lacing her fingers through the handle of her mug.

"I always thought of you as a ruby ring kind of girl," he shrugs.

With no further thought to his words, he turns his back and returns to the bar.

She shifts the mug to her right hand and glances down at the emerald band on her finger. It's beautiful, there's no doubt about it – it shines for every dollar of it's worth.

"Yeah." She smiles sadly and shakes her head.

"Me too."

* * *

The only light in the diner comes from behind the bar. It spills out into the rest of the restaurant, basking everything in a delicate glow.

They sit at the bar, sipping hot chocolate and talking in hushed voices. Her pie is half eaten, his remains untouched.

"Do you ever feel like you're dating yourself?" he asks.

He can tell that his question has caught her off guard.

"Like with me and Peyton," he explains. "We're the _exact_ same as each other."

She nods and he continues, "Sometimes I just… I just feel like I want something different."

"I know what she's thinking all the time; she never surprises me." He sighs. "We have these pointless arguments, because we both care about the same ridiculous things."

He rubs the palms of his hands over his tired eyes. "She just… never pushes me."

She can hear the tiredness in his voice. It's the same exhaustion that's obvious in the slump of his shoulders, in the frown lines embedded in his forehead.

He pushes his plate away, suddenly without an appetite.

"I get what you mean," she admits.

He looks up at her.

"We're the same, me and Nathan." She smiles resignedly. "Always have been."

"Rich… spoilt… selfish." She counts her words off on her fingers. "We've both seen too much for our own good, done things we're not proud of. He gets me… you know?"

He nods – he knows all too well.

She grits her teeth and pauses. "He really loves me."

"He's gonna give you everything you want," he replies.

And it's true – Nathan would never let her want for anything, she'll always be looked after; she'll have the life she used to dream about when she was eight years old, with ribbons in her pigtails and a toothy grin.

She laughs inappropriately. "You know what Dan said when we told him?"

He shakes his head.

"He said it made great business sense," she recalls. "He was happy Nathan was marrying into "good genes"."

He raises his eyebrows.

She snorts. "How's that for romance?"

He's glad that her question is rhetorical, because he's pretty sure that he can't give her an answer that she'd be satisfied with.

She takes another bite of her pie and toys with the spoon long after the mouthful is gone.

A comfortable silence falls over them, as they both sit with glazed eyes and only their own thoughts for company. In fact he only realizes that they have been sat in silence when she breaks it.

"It's right though," she says, and the questioning look he gives her prompts her to continue.

"…I mean everyone's with who they should be with." She nods to herself. "Me and Nathan,"

She leans her head to one side. "You and Peyton."

He crosses his arms and leans on the bar.

"What about Haley?" he asks, only half serious.

"Haley's gonna find someone," she replies her voice suddenly husky again, breaking over the low notes in that way that makes him shiver.

She rests her head on her hands and her eyes glaze over. "And they'll be intelligent… and stubborn… and moral."

She wrinkles her nose in an affectionate way. "Just like she is."

There's something in the way that she talks that's romantic in a classic way. Like that old fashioned charm that you only find in a black and white movie, where the guys are all gentlemen, and the lead girl swoons in her hero's arms.

He could look at her all day, except he can't, because he has someone else to look at, and she has someone else to look at her.

He clears his throat.

"Yeah," he smiles. "She's hardly gonna date a rockstar is she?"

She almost laughs at the image and returns his smile.

But when she catches his eyes she quickly sobers up, because he's looking at her in _that way_. That way that he really shouldn't be looking at her – that way that's dangerous and somehow safe all at once.

His eyes are blue – so blue. They seem bluer than they ever have before tonight. His brow is furrowed a little, his lips are slightly parted, his hair is tousled from his tired hands running through it. Shadows dance across his face, creating a mishmash of darkness and yellowy glow.

He doesn't look away. Why isn't he looking away? Doesn't he know this is inappropriate, this is dangerous… what one moment of weakness could do?

His eyes aren't guarded, they're relaxed and open and the way he's looking at her makes her scared that he's about to stop fighting it.

She takes a deep breath, frightened of the warm feeling spreading through her lungs. But there's a pain there too – a dull ache that's pressing on her heart, growing stronger with every second.

When he looks at her like that, it makes her want to scream out that it's not fair. It's not fair for him to be so weak when he knows his weakness will break her.

She swallows, unable to look away. She can feel her eyes start to glisten, her breath ragged and uneven. She's scared – too scared to act calm and composed anymore.

Her hands fall to her lap.

She needs his reassurance. She needs to know that they can just be friends, that maybe there is hope for him and his brother, that her and Peyton can always be best friends, that this thing between them is sexual tension and nothing more.

"It's all gonna be alright, isn't it?" she asks him, but she can barely feel her lips move and she knows her voice is as uneven as her breath.

He gulps. She can see how much this is costing him and the knowledge that he's hurting is making her want to cry even more.

"Yeah, of course." His voice is hoarse as he tries to convince them both. "It always is."

Her eyes are brimming with tears that she's determined not to let fall. Her mouth twists into a pained grimace, and yet she doesn't feel embarrassed, she just feels wounded. She won't tear her eyes away from his – because despite all of the pain that it's causing, there's something so beautiful about the way he looks at her.

He makes her feel like more than she could ever be – like more than anybody else would believe she could be.

It hurts like hell, and she isn't sure if it's even worth it anymore.

Her shoulders drop and she looks at him like the broken girl that she is.

"What if it isn't?" she whispers.

His fingers brush hers and he knows he's already gone.

Her lips are on his before he can even think about what he's doing. They're warm and she tastes like toffee – she doesn't feel like the sin that she ought to.

He knows that it's already too late.

The first time he touched her, it was already too late.

And by morning it'll be way too late.

* * *

**So like I said, I'm not totally convinced by this one. I kind of just started writing it and then got so far through that it would have been a waste not to finish it.**

**I may delete it from my site after a couple of months if I'm still not into it.**

**I'm just not convinced that it really goes anywhere.**

**Anyway, I'd love to hear what you guys think! So drop me a review and let me know!**

**Rosy x**


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